<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Friend In Need by Langerhan</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25032319">A Friend In Need</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Langerhan/pseuds/Langerhan'>Langerhan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explicit Consent, M/M, Mutual Pining, Open Marriage, Other, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:28:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25032319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Langerhan/pseuds/Langerhan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley finds an unfallen version of himself in Aziraphale's bookshop. The two of them decide to get to know each other a bit better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Kink Meme</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Friend In Need</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>And by get to know each other a bit better, I mean get to know each other's genitals. </p><p>Have I mentioned lately how fantastic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/">Meridians_of_Madness</a> is? Fantastic beta, fantastic author, all round a lovely person (with admittedly some absolutely terrifying writing).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh,” Crowley breathed, “angel, look at <i>you</i>.”</p><p>Aziraphale and the other one both blinked up at him in disconcerting tandem. Walking in on them holding each other’s hands while he was laden down with fried mashi, dumplings and mapo doufu did something in Crowley’s chest he wasn’t familiar with but was perfectly willing to lean into.</p><p>“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “Erm. Crowley. This is Crowlei.”</p><p>The angel – the other angel – gave him a shy smile.</p><p>“Right,” Crowley croaked eventually without dropping a single box. “Right. Why are you holding hands?”</p><p>Aziraphale dropped Crowlei’s hand like it was cursed, which wasn’t at all what Crowley had intended. The briefly wounded look made the thing in his chest beat faster.</p><p>"He held mine first," Crowlei argued. "I was just minding my own business when whoops, I'm being summoned. And it felt like it was – well, anyway, thought I might as well see what all this is about."</p><p>“And what is it all about?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow over his dark glasses.</p><p>“It's possible,” Aziraphale said slowly, “a wire may have been crossed somewhere.”</p><p>“He was praying,” Crowlei said, because Crowley's alternate dimension self was apparently a snitch. “Direct line to upstairs. Or not so direct, in his case.”</p><p>Something trapped in Crowley’s ribcage fell and it kept falling until Crowley could feel a yawning void behind his sternum and all he could do was stick a plaster on it. Don't think about Aziraphale praying to the one who gave them life and then abandoned them to tear each other apart like children in a particularly negligent nursery. Pretend he's got everything he needs here. Ignore him praying for this innocent, unsullied version. Concentrate on –</p><p>“I didn't get enough for three,” Crowley said, his voice normal in both pitch and volume, “but I'm sure you can manage that trick with the loaves and fishes between the two of you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale exclaimed after a pause where Crowley could see him freezing then rebooting, “I'm so sorry, my dear, of course, I'll get the plates and I'll put enough rice on to stretch it out a little.”</p><p>The two of them watched Aziraphale toddle off into the kitchen and start loudly searching for crockery.</p><p>“So,” said Crowlei, “you're his dear.”</p><p>“Oh, like you're not,” Crowley snapped. “Look at you. Your Aziraphale must eat you up with a spoon, all angelic and pure, holy full of grace, I bet the two of you go skipping through the clouds and making moony green eyes at each other.”</p><p>Crowlei crumpled. At first Crowley thought he might swoon, and stepped forward just in case, but it was simpler than that. Whatever was keeping him firmly upright bled out, leaving his posture much more like Crowley's than he'd care to admit.</p><p>“Nah. My version of him – he <i>sank slowly downwards</i>, he'd say. Enjoyed his sword and his sweets a bit too much, then next thing you know, he's all sharp teeth and pointy bits.”</p><p>“He fell. And I – you – didn't.”</p><p>Crowlei nodded slowly. “Yeah. We're not like you two. I'm not anybody's dear.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Crowley, moving his glasses just enough to rub at the bridge of his nose, “you poor daft bugger. Listen to me. There's not a single universe out there where this angel – this demon, whatever – isn't absolutely wild about you.”</p><p>“He's right, you know,” Aziraphale said, reappearing with enough crockery to lay the table for a small party. “I love you.”</p><p>Crowlei grinned sharply enough to sow a whole field of doubt, water it, and sell it at a farmers' market for a very reasonable price. “Right. You're an angel. It's what we <i>do</i>.”</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled. “It's that, I suppose, but I don't think there's any version of you across all the galaxies that loves Gabriel the same way I love you.”</p><p>“Bloody hope not,” Crowley blurted out. There was a level of alternative in the alternative dimension before him that he was unwilling to even consider, and sucking off the Archangel Gabriel was it.</p><p>“Oh,” said Crowlei, small and bent. “Well.”</p><p>Aziraphale glanced at the grubby angel who was twisting his fingers together and asked softly, “Have you ever tried mapo doufu before?”</p><p>He hadn't. Azirafael always ordered for the two of them when they went out, and his tastes ran towards steaks and fish – not the way Aziraphale enjoyed it, curled up into delicate little sushi rolls, but whole and still on the bone. Other things he enjoyed included terrorising ducks, winning snipe bids for antique books on esoteric reptiles, and being an incorrigible fool who didn't appreciate that he had the best bloody version of Crowley possible.</p><p><i>Someone you love may need a hand</i>, said Crowley's fortune cookie, and that seemed about right.</p><p>Crowlei helped to clear the table without even being asked. He hesitated slightly at the entrance to the kitchenette, almost tripping over himself, obviously unsure of which way to go in this strange dream world which wasn't quite the one he knew. He hadn't spoken much about Azirafael's bookshop over dinner. It sounded like the two versions of AZ Fell's shared a dislike of customers and a deliberate misunderstanding of the differences between a collection, a bookshop and a library, although Azirafael was a little more honest about that, which had made Crowley snort with laughter.</p><p>Aziraphale told Crowlei that he could have the run of the bookshop while its two usual residents cleared the table. He paused for a while, offered to help dry up, then darted off to explore the bestiaries section after being reassured that the two of them were fine.</p><p>“So,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“So,” Crowley echoed.</p><p>“Crowlei seems nice.”</p><p><i>Nice</i> echoed around for a while, bouncing off various parts of Crowley's psyche before the vibrations died down and the bitter edge to the sound was dulled. Crowlei was nice. He was earnest, he was still wrestling with his problems with Heaven, he was full of love for humanity and he was <i>nice</i>.</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley replied cautiously. “Pity he's an idiot.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughed as if he was trying to stop himself. “Crowley, really, it's not his fault he's under the impression he's unloved. I suppose... Well, I suppose it's mine.”</p><p>“Oh, nah, c'mon, angel. You're not that version. You stepped up, he's still pretending like he's not head over heels.”</p><p>“Oh? Head over heels?” Aziraphale stopped scrubbing and looked over at Crowley, far too amused.</p><p>“Hey, that me's gorgeous! You can see it, right?”</p><p>Crowley certainly could. It was like looking in a mirror that reflected a less troubled version of himself, one with a fantastic skincare regime and a healthy sleep schedule. Possibly one that ate at least one vegetable a week. His hair was longer than Crowley’s had been for about a decade, and he wore delicate blues and greens to contrast with the dark red.</p><p>“I can,” Aziraphale replied as Crowley concentrated too hard on drying the third wine glass. “I wonder if he can, though. Perhaps – no.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Crowley prompted, attacking the rice pan with a dish cloth which would have sincerely regretted its being chosen had it been unlucky enough to be granted sentience.</p><p>“Perhaps you might want to show him what it means to be loved, since he's not getting it from his version of me. Ah, in the physical sense.”</p><p>“Angel,” said Crowley. He whipped the dish cloth over the back of a chair, folded up his glasses and put them away. This was a question that demanded all the sincerity his demonic little soul could muster. “Are you telling me to go fuck myself?”</p><p>He expected blustering. What he didn't expect was for Aziraphale to tilt his head thoughtfully and reply, “Yes. I suppose I am.”</p><p>Crowley wheezed. This was a strange enough day already without the love of his immortal life suggesting he tick the forbidden boxes on the clone quiz. (Had Aziraphale somehow learnt how to meme while Crowley wasn't looking? Was that what was happening here?) He put both hands on the counter until he could breathe normally again, while Aziraphale continued to pay far too much attention to the cutlery.</p><p>“It's you, though,” Crowley finally managed to croak, “he wants you, not me. Himself. Myself. Ourself. My version of him. Himself that's me. His–”</p><p>Aziraphale kissed him before he could continue making an idiot out of this version of himself.</p><p>“I think he'd be better off experiencing that with his version of me. But experiencing it with you... Well. I know you've indulged in a spot of onanism in the past, and I don't see how this would be any different.”</p><p>“Sure. I'll just offer his virgin angelic arse a round of slap and tickle with his demonic self, shall I? That should go down well.”</p><p>“What makes you think he's a virgin?”</p><p>“What makes me think he's a – he's an angel, he's an idiot, and he's in love with a demon he thinks doesn't love him back, where would he be getting his end away?”</p><p>If the look Aziraphale gave had been any more pointed, he would have been arrested under the Restriction of Offensive Weapons Act of 1959. “I can think of a few reputable establishments.”</p><p>Crowley grabbed a bottle of wine on his way out onto the shop floor. However the following conversation was about to go down, he had the feeling he was about to need it.</p><p>“Oh, I'm rather fond of that one,” Aziraphale said. Crowlei was flicking through a faded hardback which had been published for small children some time in the 19th century. It proclaimed in ornate lettering across the front cover that it would teach them how to recognise the snakes, lizards and other reptiles of the British Isles. “Some charmingly illustrative watercolours in it.”</p><p>Crowlei put it down gently on the end table and started to fiddle with one of his sleeves.</p><p>“Drink?” Crowley prompted.</p><p>“Ah, yeah, go on then,” Crowlei replied, “if we're all having one.”</p><p>“Actually,” Aziraphale said, “I think I'm going to go upstairs. To sleep. I'll be <i>utterly</i> insensate and unable to hear anything at all going on down here. Should anything happen.”</p><p>Every sentence positively dripped with earnest significance. Crowley rolled his eyes. Crowlei just looked slightly bemused.</p><p>“Alright, angel, sleep well.”</p><p>Aziraphale strode forward. He paused for a few seconds to look Crowlei up and down – make sure he was watching, maybe – and then kissed Crowley firmly on the mouth. Usually he'd be more shy in front of company, but he parted their lips and put a hand up to brush Crowley's hair, pouring an amount of desire into the kiss that was appropriate for Soho in general but unusually public for this particular shop. After they parted, he kissed him again, barely touching their lips together before stepping back.</p><p>“Goodnight,” he said.</p><p>Crowley and Crowlei watched him disappear up the stairs with a book under his arm and listened to the latch on the door click shut.</p><p>“What in all of bloody London was <i>that</i>?” Crowlei finally asked, all in one breath.</p><p>Crowley waved the wine bottle and sighed deeply. “He thinks you and me should fuck.”</p><p>“He thinks we should <i>what</i>?” Crowlei howled delightedly.</p><p>Crowley bit into the cork, pulled it out with his teeth and spat it onto the floor. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.</p><p>“Make the ineffable being with two backs. Play the game of flats. Go for a vigorous ride on the Clapham omnibus. Stick the tulip plunger in amongst the flowerbeds.”</p><p>“Bisect the holy triangle,” Crowlei nodded in agreement. “Dip the wick in the wax. Dance the forbidden foxtrot.”</p><p>“Thread the venereal needle.”</p><p>“Get the Pope's hat wet.”</p><p>“Give the girls an address in Covent Garden.”</p><p>“Well,” said Crowlei, taking a swig out of the bottle Crowley had passed to him, “don't see why not.”</p><p>“Oh for fuck's sake,” Crowley groaned, “do your lot all get this in a slide show? How to avoid the sin of onanism by sleeping with an alternative dimension version of yourself? Who presents it? Is it Uriel? Please say not Gabriel.”</p><p>Crowlei neither confirmed nor denied the prospect of conferences on the ethics and morality of ploughing his way through the multiverse. Instead he took a hairband from around his wrist and tied his curls up in a messy bun. He looked at Crowley and bit his lip while Crowley wondered with a sharp wine tang if his own eyes had been that green once upon a time.</p><p>“I want to,” Crowlei said, slow and low, “so I think you want to. But I only want to if we're doing this for us. I don't want to do it for him.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Crowley swallowed the echo of alcohol from his mouth. “Yeah, that's – yeah. Go on then.”</p><p>Both of them thought to move forward at the same time, so they crashed their mouths together much sooner than either of them were expecting. Crowley paused, then ran his tongue over the crooked teeth in the mouth that wasn't quite his. He ran his hands up into Crowlei's hair, and Crowlei did the same to his – right, of course, they liked the same things so they'd do the same things, Crowlei knew what he liked because Crowlei liked it too. It suggested a reassuring level of experience.</p><p>By the time they stopped kissing, Crowlei was flushed and panting. Crowley took pride in the fact he'd been able to undo a different angel like that.</p><p>The hand which Crowlei slipped into his was rougher than he'd been expected (and didn't that feel metaphorical). The world had left its mark with dry skin across his knuckles and a few little scars whose history Crowley didn’t know. He pulled the pale hand up to his mouth to kiss.</p><p>Crowlei was <i>nice</i>. He really was. He deserved to be treated like something special. Maybe in another universe, Crowley deserved that. (In this universe he was treated like something special by a beautiful angel of his own, but he knew he didn't <i>deserve</i> it.)</p><p>Crowlei smirked. It was a surprisingly attractive expression, although Crowley wasn't sure whether that was because of its incongruence or whether he just had one of those faces.</p><p>“Are we getting all Arthurian here?”</p><p>Crowley kissed his hand again gently before letting it drop. “You're beautiful.”</p><p>If this really was his first time, which was looking less and less likely with every moment, it should have been something special with someone who loved him. Maybe Crowley couldn't be that, but he knew what that looked like, and he could fake it well enough.</p><p>“I'm alright,” Crowlei answered quietly, then after consideration added: “Yeah. We look pretty good.”</p><p>He'd drawn himself up again, Crowley noticed, like a greedy little flower reaching towards the light. He kissed Crowley gently, first on the mouth and then wandering up towards his tattoo. Crowley caught him before there could be any awkward questions about how he got it or why.</p><p>“C'mon,” he said, pulling at the soft hem of Crowlei's jumper, “let's get this off you.”</p><p>For someone who may or may not have been in the situation before, Crowlei was remarkably adept at hitting the right beats when undressing. He bit his lip when he pulled the jumper over his head, then smiled shyly and shook his head when his curls tumbled down out of their hairband. He sat down in the armchair with his legs splayed and shot Crowley another smile as he undid the top button on his jeans. He put a protective hand over his cock when he wriggled his trousers down, then sat there with one hand up under his vest playing with a nipple and the other rubbing idly under his briefs.</p><p>He was, in short, a fucking menace, and Crowley couldn't have been prouder.</p><p>Crowley put a hand on his own half-interested cock and gave it a few pumps. It wasn't exactly like jacking off in front of a mirror, which Crowley had done a few times in the seventies; Crowlei was similar enough to be familiar territory, but different enough that Crowley didn't feel entirely narcissistic in calling him beautiful. They had different scars, different angles, different curves and grace. Crowlei was making a high-pitched little whine that no version of Aziraphale would have ever let him live down.</p><p>“Now you,” Crowlei gasped, which didn't seem fair when he still had his underwear on.</p><p>Crowley stripped himself down to stark naked anyway. Might as well show himself how it was done. Unlike Crowlei's neatly folded pile, he left his clothes strewn over the floor, with his knickers neatly framing a copy of <i>Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea</i>.</p><p>Crowlei inspected him slowly. It was the sort of look Aziraphale used for something fruity decorated with spun sugar. Crowley leaned down to kiss him on the mouth again and to enjoy the feel of those soft little whines being swallowed and subsumed.</p><p>Sitting on his own lap made Crowley horribly aware of how bony his arse was, and he vowed to apologise to Aziraphale if he managed to survive this. He could feel Crowlei's cock digging into him and gave a wiggle to let him know he appreciated it, then a gasp to let him know he appreciated Crowlei's hand on him even more.</p><p>“They're the same,” Crowlei said almost conversationally. “Thought yours would be bigger than mine.”</p><p>“Oi,” Crowley protested, “you thought what, heading downstairs would make us vain enough to pack a few more inches?”</p><p>Crowlei made a contented, but rather non-committal, noise, and continued to stroke the (apparently surprising) cock in his lap. Crowley flung a hand round his shoulder and squeezed him into a tight hug. He needed something to concentrate on that wasn't getting a handjob from someone who knew exactly, excruciatingly well how everything was put together down there, or this would be over much more quickly than either of them had intended.</p><p>“C'mon,” he said, snapping the waistband on Crowlei's briefs so it would sting against his tight stomach, “get these off, you're not fucking me through them like I'm a milkmaid and you're the lord's thirdborn son.”</p><p>“Sounds specific,” Crowlei murmured into his neck. “Don't think I want to know.”</p><p>It hadn't even been anything too bad – just a quick rumble in the hay to give the lad some much-needed relief before he started his theology degree – but if Crowlei didn't want to hear the story, he didn't have to. The underpants were duly dispensed of.</p><p>It was strange to see Crowlei go slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the feeling of someone working a hand over his cock. Less familiar than Crowley had been expecting. He kissed him gently and straddled his lap, the armchair politely expanding to accommodate the two of them. </p><p>Pulling some oil from his bedroom upstairs and rubbing it up and down meant Crowlei’s eyes went even wider. </p><p>“Fuck me on your perfectly adequately sized phallus,” Crowley proclaimed solemnly.</p><p>Crowlei punched him lightly in the sternum. It only made Crowley's soul beat faster.</p><p>He moved only slightly and started to rock himself down, enjoying the slight burn and the wondrous expression on Crowlei's pretty face in almost equal measure.</p><p>“Take the bloody vest off,” he growled about halfway down. He knew what he could do with his nipples, and he couldn't do it half as well with cotton in the way.</p><p>Crowlei bit his lip, hesitant for the first time.</p><p>“Or don't,” Crowley added, his breath heavy and tight. “Up to you.”</p><p>There was a flash of uncertainty before Crowlei decided, and once the vest was up and over his head, it was easy to see why.</p><p>The scars looked like war wounds; faded red shrapnel that distorted the lay of his chest, puckering and pitting the flesh in gouged kiss marks. Crowley ran his thumbs over them before rubbing over the parts he'd be meaning to touch all along.</p><p>“You're good,” Crowlei breathed, “you're really, really good, you're in love, how did you ever fall,” Crowley shook his head slightly and Crowlei changed path, “Hell doesn't know what it's missing, they're idiots, you're so beautiful and you're so, so good.”</p><p>In Crowley's mouth, half of that would have been slurred and stuttered, but in Crowlei's it was all sighed and elucidated while his beautiful green eyes blinked upwards.</p><p>Crowley kissed him fiercely just to balance out all the accusations of niceness and sank all the rest of the way down.</p><p>“Heaven doesn't know what it's missing,” he growled on a whim that Crowlei's shudder told him was an effective one. “You're cool, they can barely dress themselves, you're gorgeous, always stylish, everyone wants to be you, you belong in London, not up there with the suits.”</p><p>“Fuck,” said Crowlei, looking wild and scratching up at Crowley's chest, “fuck, I'm going to–”</p><p>Crowley paused before he could make good on that promise. He stretched languidly as if he wasn’t sitting on a sacred version of his own prick. “Not yet.”</p><p>“Yes yet,” Crowlei whined, trying to buck his hips further up.</p><p>Crowley put a hand on his cheek and stroked downwards. “Nah, c'mon. Look, I'm slowing down. Think of things you love. Think of why you love them. Tell me.”</p><p><i>Think of Azirafael</i>, he definitely didn't say. <i>Think of doing this with him instead. Think of all his sharp teeth and the way he loves you, even if he can't say it yet.</i></p><p>“I love you,” Crowlei said, sounding almost sullen.</p><p>Crowley laughed and took Crowlei's hand in his, wrapping the scarred fingers around the hot velvet of his cock, which was leaking over both their stomachs.</p><p>“Oh, you're good at this. What else?”</p><p>“Love London. Love the bookshop.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley hissed in agreement, “s'safe.”</p><p>“Love – love the way – love God,” Crowlei said. “Love feeling – loved.”</p><p>It echoed in the empty cavern inside Crowley. It was fine. They could get over it. They could keep going. He bounced into Crowlei's hand with renewed vigour, hissing and twisting a hand up into his hair.</p><p>“What else?”</p><p>“Azirafael,” Crowlei finally said, and Crowley sat down as deep as his could, tugging on Crowlei's curls, feeling his fingers on his cock, twitching and clenching on the same one up inside him while Crowlei breathed heavily, “love Azirafael.”</p><p>It only took a kiss and a moment for Crowlei to be shuddering up into him, and a moment more for Crowley to be spilling into his tight hand, the two of them sweaty and panting against each other.</p><p>“Huh,” Crowley finally managed to croak. He clambered off the armchair but didn't bother getting dressed; he knew exactly where he was going, and held out a hand so Crowlei could accompany him. “Come on.”</p><p>Crowlei gestured at his discarded underwear, but there was no way Crowley was going to let him put those back on. He'd carry him if he had to. In fact, might as well; he knew he enjoyed it. He took Crowlei in his arms, one hand under his knees, one under his lean ribs, and pulled the angel close, sending all the human sticky bits somewhere suitably discreet.</p><p>“Where we going?” Crowlei mumbled, quiet and post-coital, as Crowley carried him carefully up the stairs.</p><p>“Going to take a nap. S'the done thing after fucking your alternative dimension self.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Crowlei sighed in agreement, “alright.”</p><p>The golden lamp on the bedside table cast a warm glow on both the angel in Crowley's arms and the angel who was currently sitting up in bed and making no pretence at not being a liar. Aziraphale was wearing silk pyjamas, his reading glasses, and a fond if slightly smug expression which said he expected full details in the morning.</p><p>“Special delivery,” Crowley announced, and lay the nude Crowlei close next to Aziraphale. Crowlei froze like a rabbit who was unsure if he was about to get hit by a van or have all his little bunny dreams come true.</p><p>“Oh, <i>really</i>,” Aziraphale tutted. “Come here, sweet little thing. Crowley, you are a fiend.”</p><p>Crowley watched as Aziraphale put an arm round Crowlei, kissed the top of his head, and let him snuggle under the duvet with him. If Crowlei's eyes started watering a little, they could all ignore it.</p><p>“Oi,” Crowlei sniffed when Crowley made a move to get his pyjamas on, “join us. Please.”</p><p>“Oh, do,” Aziraphale added warmly. “Darling, it would mean ever so much to me to have you both here.”</p><p>Crowley stilled. They'd talk about this in the morning. They'd talk about a lot in the morning. For now, though, he could climb into a bed with two beings who loved him, and he could love them right back in return. He wrapped himself around Crowlei, wrapped a hand around his chest to feel his heart thumping, and sank slowly down into its familiar rhythm.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>